


keep my mind (off the edge)

by Liu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Coping, Dementia, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, M/M, slight au i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:46:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4385342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liu/pseuds/Liu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Len is diagnosed with an early onset Alzheimer's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep my mind (off the edge)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [讓我神智（遠離崩潰邊緣）【Translation of 'Keep My Mind (Off The Edge)'】](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238238) by [AshuraXuan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshuraXuan/pseuds/AshuraXuan)



> My knowledge of Alzheimer's is limited to Google and a few brief brushes with the disease I've had in my life. This fic might be medically inaccurate (as well as emotionally draining), and I'm open to suggestions.
> 
> Also I have no idea if Barry can run forward in time too, or more like get back to the time he's originally from if he goes back to the past (even without Wells/Thawne's machine). He likely can't, but for the sake of this fic, let's all pretend I did not completely fuck up canon by giving him this ability.
> 
> (oh right, and the title comes from an Adam Lambert song, if anyone cares. If anyone wants to throw some headcanons (or stones) my way, you can do so on tumblr too, I'm 'pheuthe' ^^; )

When Barry gets back to the apartment – _their_ apartment – Len’s still there, and apparently surprised to see his boyfriend who is currently supposed to be at the precinct, trying to work through all the analyses and samples that he should’ve worked through in the past week but never found the time, courtesy of the whirlwind of metahuman-related crimes that have been springing up all around them.

 

“What happened?” Len asks immediately, rising from the couch where he’d been lounging with a half-drunk beer. Barry would usually chastise him about drinking before they’re due for another job in just a few hours, but today, he lets it slide more than willingly as he moves closer to Len and tries for a smile.

 

“Nothing,” Barry shakes his head when Len’s frown deepens – he must have failed at the smiling thing pretty spectacularly. Len’s wide, still slightly rough hand settles on Barry’s neck, a gesture that is usually steadying for Barry, reaffirming the unshakable truth of the past five years. Whatever metahuman hurls their crap at him, whatever questionable thing Barry has to do in order to save lives, Len’s right there with him, by his side, just like he’s supposed to be, forever.

 

“Just wanted to see you,” Barry adds. Len just raises an eyebrow, snorting, because he does not know how much that means to Barry these days.

  
“Is this about that thing from earlier? Barry, I’m just turning forty-eight, I’m not gonna drop dead all of a sudden, kid.”  
  
The words turn into something sour, deep in the pit of Barry’s stomach and he flashes forward, wrapping his arms around Len’s shoulders, holding on tight. Heavy hands drop to his waist and Len allows him this moment of worry, of doubt, before he pushes Barry away just enough to look at him:

  
“Now you’re making _me_ anxious. Have you learned something new from Cisco and Caitlyn?”

 

They’re due to report to STAR Labs in a few hours; there’s a warehouse that needs to be checked out because of some suspicious readings Cisco’s been getting from the place. But Barry refuses to think of that warehouse now – that’s not why he came back.

 

“No news on that,” he replies, leaning in to brush his lips against Len’s. His former nemesis yields immediately, years of practice in kissing Barry making him melt into Barry’s touch, and it’s good for a while, when Barry manages to turn off his whirring mind.

  
“So what’s wrong?” Len asks once they part, that lazy smirk on his face that Barry now knows comes from kissing languidly, with no regard to time. Though Barry’s aware of time, painfully so, every passing minute just a stabbing reminder of what he does not want to remember at all.

  
“I wanted to give you your present early,” he purrs, banishing the darker thoughts, and runs a hand through Len’s short hair – it’s a little longer than when they first met, but still not enough for Barry to grip; never quite enough.

 

Len quirks an eyebrow at him, his smirk tilting to one side, turning cocky.

  
“I thought we agreed that after so many years, sex does not count as a birthday gift,” he huffs a laugh and Barry swats at his hand that, contrary to his words, slips down to cup Barry’s ass through his suit.

 

For a delicious moment, Barry goes along with it and sighs at the contact; in the end, he climbs off Len’s lap with a snort.

 

“Not that kind of a present. Though I’m not saying no, mind you.”

 

He flashes to the door; his first present was hidden in a drawer among his more colorful socks, because Len wouldn’t touch those willingly if his life didn’t absolutely depend on it. It was a gag shirt, something about old age Barry can barely remember, and it’s likely still in that drawer, deliberately forgotten – but somehow, the shirt doesn’t fit into the overall scheme of things the second (third, fourth) time around, now that Barry knows the end game. He also knows nothing’s gonna change, no matter what he gets Len; but something in him obsesses over a perfect gift.

 

It’s a watch now, expensive and intricate without being too massive or ostentatious, just the kind Barry saw Len eyeing over the years, or joking that if it wasn’t for Barry, he could get a whole shop’s worth of watches like that. Len’s taken aback, mostly because they haven’t exactly been giving each other such expensive gifts, likely due to the fact that one of them used to be a master thief and the other in law enforcement, and money still carries the reminder of them having been on opposing sides. Barry mentally curses because he didn’t think of that when he got the watch, just half an hour ago; he reaches to take it back, but Len is faster for once, with Barry intent on willing the time to slow down at the moment instead of speeding it up. He drags Barry in for a kiss, and the other part of the happy-birthday-package is carried out flawlessly, breathlessly in the bedroom, showing Barry that Len, while not usually so intent on material luxuries, is more than happy with the watch.

 

Barry almost manages not to think about what comes later.

 

…………………….

  
“Can I help you?” Len asks with a raised eyebrow.

 

Barry licks his lips. This can really go either way: he hasn’t yet found a reliable key to untangling the mess of having to explain to Len that Barry actually lives here too.

 

“I… uh,” he says, because he’s just basically spent an hour in a coma before his body worked through the poisonous crap the newest metahuman villain had thrown at him, and his brain is not ready to come up with valid excuses why he wants to go to sleep in his own bed.

 

“I’m a friend of Lisa’s,” he gets out eventually, going for the explanation that works most often. “She said I could crash here for a while,” he adds when Len just keeps looking at him – appraisingly, yes, but otherwise blankly. It’s unnerving and frustrating and Barry just wants to shoulder in and go to bed, but the one time he actually did, he ended up punched and he absolutely does not want to spend an hour explaining his powers and super-fast healing tonight.

 

“Cool,” Len shrugs, his eyes snapping up to Barry’s face, calculating and slightly paranoid and almost normal, except… “Who’s Lisa?”

 

Barry doesn’t groan out loud, but he’s close.

  
“Um. She said you worked together on some bank job?” he asks, hopeful for a spark of recognition in Len’s eyes.

 

“I’m not a banker.”

 

 _No shit_ , Barry thinks, and his lack of response is apparently a bad move because Len’s eyes narrow.

  
“I don’t think you should be here,” he says warily. “I guess you got the wrong apartment.”

 

With that, he shuts the door in Barry’s face. And really, it’s Barry’s own fault, he should have insisted that Caitlin, or someone, stay with Len. But this metahuman was a really hard nut to crack and then Barry got poisoned and Caitlin assured him over the comm that Len was doing fine and he could manage for a couple of hours if they left the surveillance on in the apartment.

 

And now, Barry pays for that moment of blind faith in Caitlin’s assessment with interest as he sits down on the steps in front of his own door. Really, the one thing Alzheimer’s has taught Barry so far is ‘don’t trust anyone’, which is a very ironic thing, considering Len’s current bout of paranoia that has Barry sitting out here instead of showering and going to bed.

 

Half an hour passes; there are no suspicious sounds from the apartment, but Barry spends the time tapping his foot and staring at the screen of his phone. If anything goes wrong, Cisco would call him immediately – his phone remains silent, though, so Barry knows he’s not supposed to break down the door. One, it’s a bitch to fix, two, it would be an even greater bitch to explain to the landlord why they’re changing their door for the third time. And three, it does not help Len any to be under stress, and having a guy break into his apartment definitely counts as stress.

 

Barry should wait some more, he knows. But he’s so desperately tired that he gets up after thirty-two minutes and knocks on the door again.

  
“Honey, I’m home,” he says, sending all the prayers he knows to all the gods he can think of.

  
Len snorts and steps aside.

  
“Go take a shower, Scarlet, you stink. What did you fight, an evil skunk?” he scrunches his nose.

 

Barry does exactly that. Take a shower, that is… not fight any wild animals.

 

…………………………………………….

 

When Iris appears, Barry’s already halfway through his latte. The caffeine doesn’t help at all, and Barry has a feeling it wouldn’t even if he didn’t have a super-fast metabolism. These days, everything tends to feel like he’s sleepwalking, anyway.

 

“You did it again, didn’t you,” Iris says as she sits down across from Barry and settles her hand over his. Barry laughs a little:

 

“How come you always know?”

 

She gives him a sad look, and Barry would be angry with her for wearing her pity so openly if it didn’t feel like it makes him understand what Len goes through every day. Well, not _every_ day: he doesn’t know enough about his surroundings every single day to be affected all the time. But in those increasingly rare moments when he’s aware and himself, he hates pity with burning passion that results in angry outbursts more often than not. For Barry, it’s a little different: pity just makes him feel tired, so damn tired.

 

“For all that you say it helps you when you go back… you always look worse after you return to the present,” Iris sighs and gets her own coffee. In the meantime, Barry’s trying to think of something to say, but he can’t really argue with her. In a way, it does help, for a while… but in the end, it leaves him feeling so much more crappy when he gets back to his ‘own’ time, to Len who struggles to remember names and places and how to use a phone and then sometimes snaps back to being himself for just a moment, or a day, and makes Barry long for a Len who used to be consistently, unchangingly himself.

 

“It feels like I’m cheating on him,” he chuckles humorlessly when Iris gets back with a latte of her own. “I run through time to be with him, and then I run back to be with him again, and… it’s not fair, you know? He can’t go back, and sometimes, I just can’t go forward and I know I shouldn’t, but…”

 

He cuts himself off – he doesn’t need to say more. He said it all so many times that Iris knows this dance intimately. Reminding himself of the good times, experiencing them again physically, gives him the strength to carry on, to survive all of this… but at the same time it drains so much to see the difference, to see Len healthy and strong and independent again, with a sharp mind and a sharper tongue, with hands that burn like icy brands into Barry’s skin and kisses that take Barry’s breath away.

 

“You have to stop doing this to yourself,” Iris says eventually, when she’s allowed Barry an appropriate amount of time to try and process the impossible. He’s always been good at that, even before he became the impossible – funny how much trouble he’s having after Len’s life is the one that has taken a difficult final turn.   

 

“Barry,” Iris leans forward, her voice insistent, and Barry realizes he’s drifted off a little. He refocuses on her and she sighs. “This is not helping anyone, much less you. I understand that you must miss him, how he used to be, but Barry… you have to face the truth eventually.”

 

“I face it every day,” Barry counters hoarsely. He faces the truth as best he can, the truth that Len will never be truly himself again, that he’s gonna get worse and if his progression so far is any indication, he’s gonna get worse _fast_. But from time to time, once a month or so, he just needs to look at the man he fell in love with, all of him with his sarcasm and his smirks and his innuendos, and he’s not really hurting anyone by taking a trip through time to do that.

 

But then, he gets back to their apartment, almost exactly to the same second, and Len’s there, staring into nowhere, handling the deactivated cold gun with fumbling fingers. Caitlin suggested that familiar motions and strong sensory memories might help, and Cisco emptied the gun so that Len could hold it without the risk of getting hurt. Barry thinks it feels like cheating to deactivate Captain Cold’s trademark weapon, but there was that time when they all thought Len was still relatively okay and he ended up with frostbite all over his forearm because the cold gun spilled as his hands shook. Len broke a mirror with his fist afterwards out of frustration, and then he reluctantly agreed that it might be for the best if he’s not allowed to handle a working weapon. He used to be able to disassemble and reassemble it, his timing slowly getting worse, until one day he just couldn’t remember how to put it all together again. That was the first time Barry saw Len genuinely terrified of what is happening to him; being Captain Cold was such a huge part of who he is, and now, he doesn’t have that anymore. Now, all he has is Barry, and Lisa, but Lisa has Cisco and Barry has the other Len from the past, and it makes Barry feel immensely guilty for leaving Len completely alone like that, even though the man doesn’t know it.

 

“I know I have to stop,” Barry adds when Iris’ worried look doesn’t ease up. She’s right, he knows, but he can’t give this up.

 

“Not yet,” he whispers and when he looks up at Iris, he knows he has won the battle… for today. In a couple of weeks, there’s gonna be this same quiet, resigned fight carried out over vanilla lattes, and Barry’s not sure how long he can keep this streak of miserable victories going.

 

……………………….

 

“LISA! LISA!”

 

The scream wakes Barry up into a disoriented panic: it takes him a few seconds to realize the yell is coming from the living room. A quick glance at the clock tells him it’s three in the morning, and he kicks his covers off to go try calm Len down.

  
“LISA!” Len yells, pounding on the locked front door: he’s stepping back, turning with his shoulder to the door, and Barry winces as he flashes to Len, touching his arm lightly.

 

He deliberately doesn’t use his speed to get away when Len grabs him and slams him into the door instead, snarling in his face:

 

“Where’s Lisa?! I heard her scream! Where’s my sister?!”

 

“Lisa’s fine,” Barry says first: he’s learned the hard way there’s no point in trying to remind Len about who or where he is before he settles down about his sister’s safety. “We can call her, alright? Lisa’s okay.”

 

Len’s feral grimace slowly eases and he looks around, then glances at Barry again.

  
“I heard her scream,” he repeats, still scowling, and Barry tries to put a steadying hand on his arm. It works this time, and Len stops gripping Barry’s T-shirt so tightly.

 

“It was a bad dream. She’s fine. You’re fine,” Barry keeps muttering soothingly, and in just a minute, Len lets Barry wrap his arms around him. He’s getting thinner, not strong enough for his regular workout, and maybe most people can’t see it yet but Barry has Len’s body mapped out and memorized all too well.

 

“Would you like to call Lisa?” Barry asks as he touches Len’s neck, drags his fingers down the soft hair at Len’s nape. He can feel the fight leave Len’s body, after Len’s hands settle on Barry’s waist, familiar and yet a little tentative, a little strange, as if Len’s not yet quite sure who Barry is. Lisa is sleeping, no doubt, but this wouldn’t be the first time they woke her up because of Len’s night terrors. At least they don’t have to drive out to Lisa and Cisco’s place anymore in the middle of the night – Len seems to settle faster every time he has the same episode.

 

“I’ll call her tomorrow,” Len decides, and Barry doesn’t point out that tomorrow, Len won’t remember. It’s all fine… or at least, it could be a lot worse.

 

He pulls back and takes Len’s hand, smiles a little even though Len still feels… cold, and foreign, and confused.

  
“Wanna go back to bed?”

 

Len agrees quietly, and Barry’s on the verge of dreaming when he hears three soft words muttered into the dark of the early morning, so close to his ear that Len’s breath brushes against his skin.

 

His eyes sting as he falls back to sleep.

 

……………………….

 

“What do you mean you knew?”

 

Barry’s voice crosses the line into the field of hysteria, and Len keeps frowning like the words Catlin has spoken just a moment ago are a personal offense. His arm is bandaged, but the bullet just grazed him; Barry pulled him out of the way, barely, just barely in time for the bullet not to go through Len’s chest.

 

He still sees it in his mind, vivid and terrifying, how Len just stood there, looked at his cold gun like he never saw it in his life, how the goon had aimed and pulled the trigger, and Len, with that horribly blank stare in his eyes, did not even try to duck.

 

Caitlin did some tests when they got back from the job; Len kept scowling at the world and not saying anything, until the word ‘Alzheimer’s’ echoed like a horrible joke through the room. Barry gasped out loud – but Len, god, the look on his face, guilt, anger, sadness, and no surprise.

 

“How long?” Barry says, hollow and raw, and Len shrugs.

  
“About a year. I started having trouble remembering some things… I used to have a really good memory, so I went to see a doctor. It’s genetic.”

 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner, then?” Barry can’t help but feel betrayed – he’s Len’s partner, boyfriend, they’re living together, for god’s sake, he should’ve _known._ A large part of the fury rising in Barry’s chest like a tidal wave is guilt: he should’ve noticed, and how the hell didn’t he? But Len’s always been a master of fake-it-till-you-make-it, even if it means faking it till something kills him.

  
“You could’ve been shot today, do you even realize that?!” Barry yells – he really shouldn’t be yelling at a sick person, but a part of him that’s responsible for inhibitions just knows that Len has lied to him for a year and refuses to acknowledge the sickness in all its horrendous implications. “You shouldn’t have _been_ there, Len! You could have _died_!”

 

Len scoffs dismissively, meets Barry with fury of his own, raises him with a year’s worth of concealed outrage.

  
“That was the whole point, Scarlet. Going out in a blaze of glory instead of letting my brain rot.”

 

The words ring in Barry’s ears – he’s running before he knows where he’s going, but he needs to get away from Len and his suicidal, defeatist bullshit. He stops at the door of the house that was his home ever since his mother got murdered and his father went to jail; Joe appears in the doorway, frowns with worry, and Barry is sobbing like crazy before he can even get a word out. Joe lets him, drags him in and sits him down and wraps his arms around Barry as he chokes on the life that has handed him – and Len – such shitty cards. Why Len, he thinks, why the guy who has finally turned his life around, who has done some really good things lately, who still has such a long time to go before it ends? And the worst part is that Barry is absolutely powerless to change anything. If Len just got shot or hurt, Barry could’ve run back in time, changed it and fuck the consequences. But how can he change something embedded in Len’s blood, in his DNA, from the very beginning?! It’s Barry’s parents all over again, the helplessness and the inability to change the course of events, to avert the disaster sweeping over his life.

 

It takes Barry a long time to settle down a little; he’s exhausted, his head is pounding, and the world has not shifted by some miracle to make it not true.

 

“Now, tell me what’s wrong,” Joe says eventually.

  
“It’s Len.”

  
“What-“

  
“Alzheimer’s. Len’s got Alzheimer’s,” Barry says, and a disbelieving chuckle escapes him before he can stop it. He’s always had this stupid reflex of laughing at things that were not funny, a nervous reaction and just another thing he can’t control.

 

“What?” Joe repeats, frowning in confusion. Apparently he’s having trouble wrapping his mind around it; _welcome to the club_ , Barry thinks wryly.

 

“It’s some genetic variety, early onset, he’s… today, he blanked out in the warehouse, nearly got himself shot, and… it’s just gonna get worse,” Barry says, his last words crashing into him like an avalanche. Len’s gonna get worse.

 

“What do I do?” he looks at Joe, pleading for advice, help, anything.

 

“Shit,” Joe sighs as the news finally settle. The word sums it up pretty nicely, but it doesn’t really help. Joe rubs a hand down his face, and gives Barry a look that he will be receiving in abundance in the next months, so much he’s gonna be sick of it. It’s pity and sadness and it’s-not-fair, all the things that mirror how Barry himself is feeling.

 

“Not sure you can do anything else but take care of him, Barry. And still treat him like the guy you fell for.”

 

It’s Joe’s words that keep coursing through Barry’s head when things get tough. It’s not for a few months that they do, and it’s such a slow descend to hell that Barry doesn’t even always realize that his path is a downward slope. But when, in some moments, it feels like someone’s steadily pushing him towards an abyss, and that someone has a face of the man Barry loves, he grits his teeth, smiles at the person who used to be Len, and reminds himself there’s nothing else he can do but remember what Len means to him, because Len can’t remember on his own.

 

…………………………..

 

Len’s head snaps back and Barry winces in sympathy: Lisa can pack a punch and she definitely went all out on this one.

 

“Why haven’t you told me?!” she yells the question that’s been coursing through Barry’s mind non-stop, ever since Caitlin spoke the words damning Len to a slow hell.

 

Len rubs his jaw gingerly, giving her a sneer:

 

“What would you have done?” he asks, and while his voice is all defiance, there’s a hint of resignation in his eyes. Captain Cold does not wear it well.  “It’s genetic, there’s no cure… I didn’t want everyone to look at me like I was a time bomb.”  
  
He speaks to Lisa, but Barry feels the words being addressed to him as well. How many times has he asked himself what he could have done to save Len…? The only thing coming back from the void is just a simple ‘nothing’ and Barry hates feeling this helpless. He hasn’t experienced this sense of dread ever since the moment he found himself standing in the street while his mother was in danger, and he was too young then to truly appreciate how it feels to have the world come crashing down around his ears.

 

Lisa feels it, too, even though Barry unkindly and unfairly thinks that she’ll still have Cisco when this, when _Len_ , is over. Deep shame follows the thought, giving him the worst kind of heartburn as he watches the hardened Golden Glider tear up and turn away.

 

“Lenny…  I’m pregnant.”

 

Barry can see Len’s throat working, trying to swallow and probably too dry to accomplish the feat. He just looks at his sister’s back like he expects it to be some sort of an elaborate joke, but in the next moment, his expression turns to steel and his eyes challenge Lisa’s hunched shoulders.

 

“So what?” he snarls, and Lisa whips around to stare at him in disbelief. Barry has read that the thing eating away at Len’s brain can affect behavior as well as aggression levels, but he has a sneaking suspicion this is just Len in all his cold glory.

 

Lisa’s mouth twists into a murderous grimace.

 

“You fucking-“

 

“So what?” Len repeats, cutting her off, rising to his feet. He glances at Barry in warning when the speedster twitches with movement immediately, wanting to steady him. Len won’t allow anyone to remember him as weak, Barry’s certain of that, and he’ll cling to the dignity of being capable of standing up on his own for as long as humanly possible.

 

“Would you do things differently if you knew?” Len asks, eyes only for Lisa now. “Would you have decided to never have kids? Or would you have stayed away from Cisco completely?”

 

Lisa bites her lip; Barry knows that she couldn’t have stayed away any more than he could have kept his hands (and heart) away from Len. She would have tried, though, stubborn just like her maddening brother, and the weight of the unimaginable task on her shoulders would have crushed her.

 

“I had almost fifty years, Lisa. Not all of them were good,” Len smirks, and Barry, to this day, can only guess at the extent of what that means for the two of them. He has heard bits and pieces, tiny shards of information that escape Len or Lisa sometimes, but he knows the picture he has in his head, while terrifying enough, is nowhere near whole.

 

“I’m not going to say this doesn’t suck. But I had a life – I still have one, even if all of you see me already buried – and I wanted you to have one too, with all that comes with it.”

 

“You selfish shit,” Lisa chokes, and Barry has to agree with her somewhat: just hearing Len speak of himself in past tense, as if he’s a chapter of everyone’s lives already finished, makes Barry’s heart smash into a million little pieces. Len’s accusation rings through, though – some days, all Barry can think of is Len dying slowly, inevitably. He can see his own feelings mirrored in Lisa’s too-bright eyes as she continues yelling, voice shrill and on the verge of breaking:

 

“Don’t you think I had the right to know?! What if I have it? What if I have this kid and five years from now, Cisco has to take care of it AND me?! What if my kid ends up dying before me, huh? Just… just like you?!”

 

She breaks down, then, and the last thing Barry sees before walking away and giving them some privacy is Len wrapping his arms around his little sister, terrified and worried and mourning already. Len won’t be able to hug anyone a few years, maybe months, down the road, and Barry aches for every second they’re wasting that they could spend together; but he knows he can’t be selfish (too). What little time Len has, he needs to divide between Barry and Lisa, at least.

 

However much Lisa blames Len for not telling her, she ends up wanting to know for herself. She comes to Barry and Len’s apartment after she takes the tests and they stay with her through the night, when she’s too twitchy to go home and get some sleep. Len is having a good day, but none of them talks too much anyway.

 

“Now I get why you didn’t tell us,” she says to Len over her fourth cup of chamomile tea, anxiety radiating off her in waves as she no doubt thinks about her husband, who has the right to know despite how bad the news could be. “I hate it… but I get it.”

  
The tests come back negative – Lisa does not carry the same gene, which doesn’t mean she won’t ever get sick, but the risk is somewhat lower. She’s four months along then, and they all have a small party about it at the lab, taking a moment to appreciate any sliver of good news through the dark cloud looming over them all.

 

By the time little Leonora’s born, Len barely recognizes them anymore.

 

 ……………………….

 

Barry comes home to the smell of Thai and his stomach growls loudly: he exerted himself a lot today, ran like crazy, and his sugar levels are letting it be known that he wouldn’t mind sitting down and wolfing down a few pounds of takeout.

 

Len’s grinning at him, sprawled on the couch, and Barry’s breath hitches: there’s nothing vacant or confused in his eyes, just mischief and raw need, and Barry sighs as he sinks into the couch, ignoring the smell of food for now. He leans in and kisses Len deeply: the affection is returned with the unmistakable push for domination Barry’s used to (or used to be used to). Len’s fingers tangle in his shirt, pulling it up – and Barry’s stomach growls again.

  
“So I guess you don’t want your non-gift sex before dinner,” Len sniggers, and Barry just wants to keep kissing him, really, but black spots are dancing in front of his eyes and oh god, yeah, _food_.

  
“Tell me I really smell Thai,” Barry pleads, and Len’s hand slips down his neck, kneading his shoulder a little.

  
“It just arrived, still warm,” Len nods and gets off the couch: Barry watches him leave, his eyes trained to the steady sway of Len’s hips, and he’s having a bit of trouble deciding whether they couldn’t go a quick round _before_ eating after all… when there’s a knock on the door.

 

He gets up because he can hear Len in the kitchen, getting plates out: it’s funny how he used to be such a hardened criminal and he still hates eating out of cardboard boxes when he can avoid it.

 

There’s a boy at the door, a boy and four plastic bags with the logo of their favorite Thai place.

  
“Delivery for Mr. Snart,” he says, and Barry raises an eyebrow:

  
“But we already have-“ he starts, and then it dawns on him. Of course. Len must’ve forgotten he ordered already, and ordered a second time. Barry gets his wallet out without another word to pay, and takes the bags inside.

 

Len walks out of the kitchen with the plates piled with beautiful stir-fry. He freezes at the sight of the bags in Barry’s hands and his expression darkens; he turns and disappears in the kitchen and Barry pleads the universe to please, please let this pass so they can lounge on that couch and eat and laugh and kiss and then go to bed and not think of The Thing, at least tonight.

 

He follows Len slowly, at the normal human pace, to give Len a few seconds to collect himself. It doesn’t work, just as expected, but Barry’s willing to try anything once, twice, a thousand times these days. Len’s shoulders are shaking, and he shrugs Barry’s hand off when he tries to touch Len’s arm.

  
“It’s fine,” Barry says quietly, and Len whips around, his eyes stormy.

  
“It’s _not_ fine,” he growls. “It’s not fucking fine! I wanted one day, one goddamn day, is that so much to ask?!”  
  
Barry flinches at the yelling, steps away: he does not want to fight Len on this. He understands it must be hard on Len, so used to being self-reliant: knowing that he’s descending into a state of no return. It’s becoming more and more palpable, hangs in the air around them like an unspoken threat every minute of their lives. It’s just been little things so far, things Len could shrug off in a minute, like forgetting a name of some acquaintance or metahuman, forgetting a number, forgetting to brush his teeth in the morning. But the tiny things have piled up into a huge heap and it’s starting to loom over Len’s head, casting its shadow every single day and the worst thing is watching Len know it.

 

“Calm down,” Barry tries to be soothing, but Len’s furious now and he refuses to be placated.

  
“I don’t _want_ to calm down! Don’t you get it? You should just put me in a home or put me _down_ , but you won’t, of course you won’t, you’re a _good guy,_ ” Len sneers cynically, rubbing his hand over his head. “You don’t kill, so you’re gonna watch me turn into a motherfucking _zombie_ instead, that’s so much kinder!”  
  
The words hurt when Len storms out, and Barry can’t but follow, even if his mind is still reeling from the metaphorical punch to the gut that Len’s words have become.

  
“Is that what you want?” he asks, and Len turns to snort at him:

  
“What? To be put down while I can still fucking think? Yeah, sure, you got a gun? You can do it right now or just leave the gun, I’ll do it myself – if I don’t forget how to fucking _use_ the damn thing!” Len roars the last few words, and his punch only lands on a wall this time, without any cracking sounds; Barry is grateful. Last time he was like this, Len managed to break his little finger, and that was a month Barry’s not too eager to relive. 

 

“I meant a home, a hospital or something,” Barry says. “Is that what you want?”

 

Len averts his eyes, the anger deflating into that helpless expression that Barry has seen so many times on his own face in the mirror.

 

“It would be best for you. I don’t want you to watch me become… this,” he sighs, sinking into the couch, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, like he can hold the weight of his collapsing world if he concentrates hard enough.

  
Barry sits down next to him slowly, carefully. He doesn’t know if Len’s gonna lash out again, or how bad. He’s not afraid: he can get out of the harm’s way, maybe even prevent Len from hurting himself too badly, but he still feels like he’s stepping on glass, wanting to ease the pain and instead making it worse two out of three times, or so it seems.

 

“Not what I asked,” Barry mutters, glancing at Len who’s still cradling his head, visibly forcing himself to breathe steady and slow.

 

“I want the world to make sense again,” Len avoids the direct answer again.

 

“I know we talked about it already,” Barry starts, and Len interrupts him with a cruel laugh.

  
“Well I don’t fucking remember it, do I.”

 

He takes a deep breath then, the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes until it has to hurt, but maybe it grounds him because the anger seems to seep out of him finally, leaving him in a pile of sunken shoulders and subtle shakes.

  
“I just wanted one day. _This_ day,” Len whispers, and Barry is touched: Len is having trouble remembering dates lately, but he still remembered that it’s Barry’s birthday, and he tried, he’s still trying, and that’s what counts. A chill runs down Barry’s spine as he realizes this might well be the last birthday he gets to spend with Len who is on the way to getting worse but still not completely there. Who knows whether he’ll even be speaking next year: Barry’s read everything there is online on Alzheimer’s, but the prognosis remains bleak, no matter where he looks.

 

“We still have,” Barry glances at his watch, “three hours and twelve minutes. So let’s make it count, what do you say?” he offers, smiling even though he doesn’t necessarily feel like it. He strokes a hand down Len’s back and the man relaxes into the touch, shifts closer, buries his face in Barry’s neck as their knees knock together.

  
“I don’t want to leave you,” he mumbles heavily, and Barry’s not completely sure it’s related to their previous discussion of a home or if this is Len slipping away again. “But I’m leaving you every day, bit by bit, and I hate it.”

 

“Me too,” Barry breathes into Len’s buzzcut, allowing himself a moment of sincerity before it’s back to half-faked cheerfulness for him. Len’s got enough on his plate, without Barry making him worry even more. “I’m not gonna let you leave, alright? And I’m not going anywhere either. Don’t you know I’m the clingiest boyfriend you could ever have? You really should’ve noticed by now.”

 

Len laughs, and the sound is wet, like he’s pushing back tears by pressing his face into Barry’s neck.

  
“One good thing about this, I’m forgetting your thousands of faults one by one, Scarlet.”

 

Barry can’t help but laugh too, even though it feels like he will soon choke on jokes like this; he leans back when Len mouths at his neck, pushes his shirt up and strokes his stomach suggestively. Barry dreads the moment when they will be making love and Len will look at him and not know who he is, who either of them are… but for now, he’s willing to take whatever he can, and leave the horrid scenarios for the future, however close it is.

 

……………………………

 

When there’s no meta-human emergency, Barry reads the Sunday newspaper out loud. Len never was big on reading, mostly he caught up on the news through TV or sometimes, online, but now, Barry’s voice seems to calm him. Sometimes, he will ask questions, surprised by things Barry takes for granted, like who the President is or how come those two actresses got married even though they’re both women, but questions are good. Questions are better than apathy, and Barry has learned how to answer in the same calm, steady voice, without making Len feel like he should know all that. Of course, Len gets frustrated sometimes all the same, but mostly he listens and thinks and asks, and when he can, he drinks his tea (Caitlin advised against coffee, so they’re sticking to herbal mixes instead) and eats his toast and Barry genuinely likes these quiet moments.

 

Of course, he used to love the lazy mornings in bed when Len made him laugh and gasp and groan out loud, but they don’t have sex anymore. At least, they don’t here, now, and if Barry runs back in time once or twice a month, careful not to let it show lest Iris gets mad at him, well, Barry has also learned to make sufficient excuses to his conscience. It’s not cheating on Len when Barry’s just running to _him_ , after all… is it?

 

Len spills his tea; he looks almost comically put out, so Barry chuckles and drags the wet shirt over the man’s head. Len lets him, pliant and wordless, and the first time that uncharacteristic obedience freaked Barry out so much. Now, he keeps smiling as he retrieves a new shirt for Len, hands it to him because he knows Len is pleased when he manages to dress himself, and watches over him inconspicuously. The shirt ends up on Len with only minor hitches, and inside out, but that’s good enough.

 

Len talks a little that morning, without prompting, and Barry does not have the heart to stop him when Len explains his plan for some elaborate heist. Barry’s not sure if that’s one Len has actually carried out: the evidence files he destroyed once for Len never got restored. It might very well be that Len has heard about some diamond display or a priceless museum exhibition on TV and his mind has gone to his old modus operandi now: Barry is happy enough to listen to him, because strictly theoretically speaking, Len’s plan isn’t half bad. So Barry nods along and asks all the right questions, and Len talks and schemes and predicts, speaks of some blueprints that he could not have seen anywhere so Barry becomes convinced that it is some past heist that Len has actually pulled.

 

It makes Len aware of Lisa’s absence: he starts looking around restlessly and when he calls for his sister all of a sudden, Barry smiles at him.  
  
“She ran out for something. Told us to meet her at a different hideout – you cool with that?”  
  
Len grins at him: Barry knows it’s the ‘cool’ part that made him happy. Whenever he goes back in his memories to his Captain Cold persona, he still seems to enjoy temperature puns immediately, so Barry tries his best. He feels insufficient in his skill to make a good ‘Cold’ pun, that was always Len’s forte, but Len seems to appreciate them anyway, most of the time.

 

Barry fires a quick text to Lisa so she’s ready: they end up visiting her most weekends anyway, and Barry knows that they’ve already been yesterday, but Len does not know, and keeping him from Lisa usually only results in anger or fear or restless irritation, so he doesn’t bother anymore.

 

Len frowns most of the way to Lisa’s, and Barry knows it’s the buildings that have sprung up lately or have been renovated in the past months that bother him. They have taken the exact same route dozens of times, but Len doesn’t really remember new things anymore, not much, in any case. He grows increasingly twitchy in the car, but the road is clear and Lisa only lives twenty minutes from their place, so they get there before Len can become too irritable.  


Seeing Lisa, as always, brightens his face: seeing her growing belly, as always, makes him frown immediately.  
  
“Lisa…?” he asks, and she smiles: Barry doesn’t think he’s ever seen her as kind as she is to Len. Not even to Cisco – those two maintain a steady stream of banter, and Lisa often pulls embarrassing sex details to light, making Cisco effectively shut up and walk away blushing, even if she makes lovey-dovey eyes at his back afterwards. With Len, it’s like she becomes a cross between a mother and a sister, just like Len no doubt became something like a father-slash-brother for her when she was younger.

 

“When did _this_ happen?” Len snorts and waves at her belly: the twenty-nine weeks are showing quite a bit on her usually slender figure, and she strokes her child bump affectionately, reaching out for Len’s  hand.

  
“Around seven months ago,” she winks at him. “You’re gonna be an uncle, Lenny. It’s a girl.”

  
She tells him like she hasn’t just told him yesterday, and two days before that, and a day before _that_ ; she comes to see him almost every day if she can.  But every time he gets confused about her pregnancy, she explains and smiles and doesn’t seem to mind. Once, she told Barry it’s like she gets to break the news to someone she cares about every single day and share the happiness all over again, and that’s nice, in a way.

  
Len doesn’t disappoint, of course: he scowls at first, asks who the guy is, whether Lisa’s happy: when she eases his worries, his face lights up like he’s never seen a greater miracle in his life and he asks to feel the baby kick. Incredibly, little Leonora always does, and Len looks like the proudest uncle in the world when Lisa announces the name.

 

Barry really hopes Len will get to meet his niece for real.

 

…………………………..

 

Caitlin just stands there while the machine gives off a steady, bone-chilling bleep – it takes a second, maybe, but her hesitation makes Barry’s blood boil.

 

“Do something!” he urges, and Caitlin turns her eyes away from Len’s face, looks at Barry with the oh-so-well-known pity.

 

“Barry, you’ve been trying to be a full-time nurse as well as a full-time superhero and it’s driving you mad. Len wouldn’t want th-“  


“Don’t you dare tell me what Len would want! He doesn’t want to DIE,” Barry would yell if his throat weren’t so dry, and he clings to the present tense like it can change any part of the terrible inevitability of Len’s last moments.

 

“Don’t talk like he’s dead already! He’s right here and he needs your help!” Barry soldiers on anyway, waving his hand at the bed. “The bullet didn’t kill him, right?! You can still… I don’t know, do something!”

 

Caitlin looks at him with a mixture of pity and frustration, sympathy and worry.

  
“Barry,” she says softly – Barry can barely hear her through the roaring in his ears. “Just… look at him.”

 

Barry’s eyes travel to the bed, to Len’s still form surrounded by all the machines that are trying where Caitlin has apparently given up-

 

Even though he’s been spending every possible second of the last days, weeks, months with Len, right by his side, it only really crashes through Barry now how haggard Len looks, how pale. How much thinner his arms are, dotted with the marks of the IVs that have been feeding him from time to time, when he’s having trouble swallowing. Barry startles as he realizes that he can’t even remember the last lucid moment Len’s had. No, that’s not true: Barry can remember it with painful clarity, the way light came back to Len’s eyes for just a moment, red-rimmed as they were over the dark circles under them. How he said Barry’s name, barely a whisper in a cracked voice, how his hand  felt when Barry kissed Len’s knuckles and cried all over them just a moment later when Len’s other hand carded through Barry’s messy hair, dirty from the rescue job he’d just come back from. Len said ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you’, and Barry kept smiling at him until the light faded from Len’s eyes and confusion set in with a frown as Len slowly took in the room where they’d made love hundreds of times, the room where they’d tentatively spoken of a life they could have together – oh, how Barry can understand the tentativeness in Len’s face now that he knows. Len knew back then that ‘future’ was a shaky concept, one he could not promise Barry, no matter how much he seemed to want it.

 

He certainly wouldn’t want Barry to remember him like this. Caitlin’s right… but Barry still can’t help but want to cling to every second, no matter how bad, how pointless, how empty it feels.

 

“Lisa should be here for this,” he croaks and puts his hands to Len’s chest: a flash of electricity kicks Len’s heart back into function, but Barry’s honestly not sure how long that will last.

 

“Why did you have to go out,” he whispers, brushing a hand through Len’s hair. It’s grown longer now, long enough to catch between Barry’s fingers: a thought comes unbidden that he should cut it because Len always hated it when his hair grew too long. For as long as Barry can, he can’t let go of the thought that maybe, for a split second somewhere, it will still matter to Len.

 

He’s had his moment today, apparently – his moment of remembering who he was. Unfortunately, he remembered being a Captain Cold; Barry was out of the apartment for just half an hour, called to a rescue mission, and Lisa couldn’t come watch Len because little Leonora has a cold (god, how Barry tries not to think of all the puns Len would have ready for that). Len managed to stagger out: nobody’s really sure how he got the strength, but he did… and it ended up with him being shot when he walked into a grocery store, thinking he was in a bank, and started waving his gun around. His defunct cold gun that didn’t even shoot air anymore: unfortunately, the security guard and his very real gun did not know.

 

It has been some time since the Flash honestly felt the urge to hurt someone really badly without being influenced by the likes of Bivolo, but that security guard was so, so lucky that Barry’s first priority was getting Len out of there once he managed to find him.

 

And now he’s here, by Len’s side, again, and he keeps hoping like a coward that Lisa will know what to do, what to say, what kind of a decision to make for the man who once would not let anyone decide for him.

 

She gasps when she comes rushing in, Leonora wrapped up in her arms and coughing lightly. Barry meets her eyes and he can see that she does not have any more answers than Barry does, clinging to last straws and failed hopes.

 

They stand together, the silence suffocating and merciless, interrupted by the whirring and beeping of everything that’s keeping Len alive and by the soft sounds of a baby named after the uncle she will never know. Eventually, Lisa shifts little Lenny on her shoulder and reaches for Barry’s hand.

  
“We should let him go,” she whispers, and Barry suspects she can’t raise her voice because she would cry.

 

Cisco comes in and takes his daughter; Barry and Lisa separate, sit down at either sides of Len’s bed. Len’s hands are cold; they both keep their fingers against his pulse subconsciously when Caitlin moves to disconnect the machines. The whirring quietens and time drags, and Barry fiercely wishes he could just grab Len and go, rush him through time to bring him to the past, to make Len conscious and lucid for one last moment so that he could say his goodbyes. Barry hasn’t said it, feeling weird saying ‘goodbye’ to someone who kept flashing through the stranger that now inhabits Len’s body, and now he regrets it, like so many other things he hasn’t done, hasn’t said – even the ones he has said, but not often enough.

 

He tries saying all of it now, in his mind, and he has no doubt Lisa is doing the same. He drifts off, forehead pressed into the mattress next to Len’s hand despite the tension running through his body.

  
“Barry,” Lisa says quietly, after what has probably been at least a couple of hours, judging by the crick in Barry’s neck when he straightens in his chair. His fingers have slipped from Len’s wrist, cupping his hand instead, and Barry reaches up to take Len’s pulse but he catches Lisa’s eye and she shakes her head slowly: Barry immediately looks at Len, and his throat tightens.  
  
Len’s eyes are completely blank now, half-open but unseeing, and he’s – he _was_ _–_ looking at Barry, or at least in Barry’s direction. Barry tries to swallow, but he can’t. He raises his hand and presses down lightly on Len’s paper-thin eyelids.

 

…………………………

 

Len is still surprised to see him back home. It’s to be expected; after all, he’s seeing Barry for the first time, even though for Barry, it’s all familiar by now, the smell of Len’s soap in the air, the sight of his ratty sweatpants, the faintest hint of beer on Len’s breath.

 

“Rough day?” he asks, and Barry never fails to be amazed at how Len reacts to the slightest changes in Barry’s appearance. There are times when he asks the same questions, and Barry finds himself answering the same: the routine is strangely calming. Strangely, because Barry’s come to associate routine with Len so much when the man was pure excitement and unpredictability before. He would expect to want that back, but right now, he’ll take Len any way he can, as long as he’s warm and alive and well and _there._

 

Barry sinks into the couch, dragging Len down with him, Len who rose halfway up to his feet when he saw Barry step into their apartment looking no doubt like total crap. He sighs and pulls the mask of his uniform off, curls into Len’s side, breathes in all he can.

  
“What’s wrong, Scarlet?” Len asks softly, his fingers dragging through Barry’s sweaty hair. He knows he shouldn’t be here, but he can’t even force himself to feel guilty anymore. He’s just… blank, empty, and he knows exactly what went wrong with his heart: it got burned, and then buried, and now it’s still alive and beating in the chest under Barry’s ear, and it’s surreal and wrong and Barry’s not moving from here, not in the next few hours. Maybe days.

 

“Someone died. I couldn’t save them,” he mumbles into Len’s shirt. Technically it’s Barry’s – but Len took a shine to it and declared Iris overly optimistic about Barry’s potential for muscle growth when she had bought the shirt for him last Christmas; ever since, Barry only ever sees the shirt on Len, and he likes it better that way.

 

Len presses a kiss to the top of Barry’s head.

  
“It’s okay. You can’t save everyone all the time. As long as you’re fast enough to run back to me at the end of the day, it will be okay.”

 

Barry smiles, a little. An image of a cold stone plaque comes to mind, Lisa’s and Iris’ hands curled into his through the ceremony, and the impossible green of the grass at the cemetery burning into his retinas.

  
“I’m definitely fast enough for that, for now,” he says, and rises to kiss Len’s smirk off his face.


End file.
